THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
Chapter 2
THE CURSE OF THE BASKERVILLES
"I HAVE in my pocket a manuscript," said Dr. James Mortimer.
"I observed it as you entered the room," said Holmes.
"It is an old manuscript."
"Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery."
"How can you say that, sir?"
"You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time
that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the
date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my
little monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730."
"The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket.
"This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose
sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in
Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical
attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as
unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and
his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him."
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon
his knee.
"You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the
short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date."
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At
the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below, in large, scrawling
figures: "1742."
"It appears to be a statement of some sort."
"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville
family."
"But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon
which you wish to consult me?"
"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided
within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately
connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and
closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the
manuscript to the light and read in a high, crackling voice the following
curious, old-world narrative:
Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have been
many statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo
Baskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had it
from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even
as is here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that
the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive
it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance it
may be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits
of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that those
foul passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not
again be loosed to our undoing.
"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the history
of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend to
your attention) this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that
name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and
godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,
seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there
was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a
byword through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to love
(if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name)
the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute, would ever
avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So it came to pass that
one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked
companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her
father and brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had
brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber,
while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse, as was their
nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her
wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which
came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo
Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man
who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that which
might have daunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of
the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall
she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor,
there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's farm.
"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests to
carry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to his
captive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as
it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down
the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,
flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud before
all the company that he would that very night render his body and
soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. And
while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more
wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that
they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran from the
house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare and
unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of the maid's,
he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over
the moor.
"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to
understand all that had been done in such haste. But anon their
bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be
done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar, some
calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for
another flask of wine. But at length some sense came back to their
crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took horse
and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they
rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must needs
have taken if she were to reach her own home.
"They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night
shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he
had seen the hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed
with fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he
had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track.
'But I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville
passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind him such a
hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels.' So the
drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward. But soon their
skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor, and
the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing
bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close together,
for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over the moor,
though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad to have
turned his horse's head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at
last upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour and
their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip
or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some,
with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow
valley before them.
"The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you may
guess, than when they started. The most of them would by no means
advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most
drunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into a broad
space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen
there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of
old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in
the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear
and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was
it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised
the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it
was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there
stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet
larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And
even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo
Baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping
jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life,
still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very
night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men
for the rest of their days.
"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is
said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set
it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror
than that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied
that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which
have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter
ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence, which would not
forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation
which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that Providence, my sons, I
hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear
from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil
are exalted.
"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with
instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister
Elizabeth.]"
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed
his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire.
"Well?" said he.
"Do you not find it interesting?"
"To a collector of fairy tales."
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. This
is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short account
of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a
few days before that date."
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Our
visitor readjusted his glasses and began:
"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose name
has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon
at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county. Though Sir
Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a comparatively short
period his amiability of character and extreme generosity had won
the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact
with him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing to find
a case where the scion of an old county family which has fallen upon
evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with
him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is
well known, made large sums of money in South African speculation.
More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them,
he realized his gains and returned to England with them. It is only
two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it
is common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and
improvement which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself
childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the whole
countryside should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good
fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing his
untimely end. His generous donations to local and county charities
have been frequently chronicled in these columns.
"The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles
cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but
at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours to which
local superstition has given rise. There is no reason whatever to
suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but
natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be
said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In
spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal
tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a
married couple named Barrymore, the husband acting as butler and the
wife as housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated by that of
several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles's health has for
some time been impaired, and points especially to some affection of
the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness,
and acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr. James Mortimer, the
friend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence to
the same effect.
"The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was
in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the
famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the
Barrymores shows that this had been his custom. On the fourth of
May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for
London, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That
night he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of
which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At
twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became
alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master. The
day had been wet, and Sir Charles's footmarks were easily traced
down the alley. Halfway down this walk there is a gate which leads
out on to the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles had
stood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the alley,
and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. One
fact which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymore that
his master's footprints altered their character from the time that
he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to
have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer,
was on the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears by
his own confession to have been the worse for drink. He declares
that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction they
came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon Sir Charles's
person, and though the doctor's evidence pointed to an almost
incredible facial distortion--so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at
first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay
before him--it was explained that that is a symptom which is not
unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion.
This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which
showed long-standing organic disease, and the coroner's jury
returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. It is
well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost importance
that Sir Charles's heir should settle at the Hall and continue the
good work which has been so sadly interrupted. Had the prosaic
finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic
stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it
might have been difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It
is understood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he
be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's younger
brother. The young man when last heard of was in America, and
inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his
good fortune."
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.
"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the death of
Sir Charles Baskerville."
"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling my attention to a
case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some
newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied by that
little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I
lost touch with several interesting English cases. This article, you say,
contains all the public facts?"
"It does."
"Then let me have the private ones." He leaned back, put his finger-tips
together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression.
"In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some
strong emotion, "I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone. My
motive for withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is that a man of science
shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a
popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the
paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to
increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought
that I was justified in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical
good could result from it, but with you there is no reason why I should not be
perfectly frank.
"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near each other
are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir
Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and
Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many
miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought
us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had
brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a
charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of
the Bushman and the Hottentot.
"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that Sir
Charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken
this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart--so much so that,
although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out
upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he
was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly
the records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging.
The idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one
occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever
seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question
he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with
excitement.
"I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening, some three
weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had
descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes
fix themselves over my shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the
most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of
something which I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the
drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled to go down to the
spot where the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, however,
and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I
stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the
emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative
which I read to you when first I came. I mention this small episode because
it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was
convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his
excitement had no justification.
"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. His
heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived,
however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious
effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among the distractions of
town would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was
much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last
instant came this terrible catastrophe.
"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler, who made the
discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up
late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I
checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I
followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate
where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the
prints after that point, I noted that there were no other footsteps save those
of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally I carefully examined the body,
which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his
arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with
some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his
identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false
statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no
traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I
did--some little distance off, but fresh and clear."
"Footprints?"
"Footprints."
"A man's or a woman's?"
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank
almost to a whisper as he answered:
"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"
